Лучшие рассказы О. Генри = The Best of O. Henry - О'Генри 15 стр.


Not a bad guess, dad; you havent missed it far.

Ah, said Anthony, keenly; whats her name?

Richard began to walk up and down the library floor. There was enough comradeship and sympathy in this crude old father of his to draw his confidence.

Why dont you ask her? demanded old Anthony. Shell jump at you. Youve got the money and the looks, and youre a decent boy. Your hands are clean. Youve got no Eureka soap on em. Youve been to college, but shell overlook that.

I havent had a chance, said Richard.

Make one, said Anthony. Take her for a walk in the park, or a straw ride, or walk home with her from church. Chance! Pshaw!

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I havent had a chance, said Richard.

Make one, said Anthony. Take her for a walk in the park, or a straw ride, or walk home with her from church. Chance! Pshaw!

You dont know the social mill, dad. Shes part of the stream that turns it. Every hour and minute of her time is arranged for days in advance. I must have that girl, dad, or this town is a blackjack swamp forevermore. And I cant write it I cant do that.

Tut! said the old man. Do you mean to tell me that with all the money Ive got you cant get an hour or two of a girls time for yourself?

Ive put it off too late. Shes going to sail for Europe at noon day after to-morrow for a two years stay. Im to see her alone to-morrow evening for a few minutes. Shes at Larchmont[129] now at her aunts. I cant go there. But Im allowed to meet her with a cab at the Grand Central Station to-morrow evening at the 8.30 train. We drive down Broadway to Wallacks[130] at a gallop, where her mother and a box party will be waiting for us in the lobby. Do you think she would listen to a declaration from me during that six or eight minutes under those circumstances? No. And what chance would I have in the theatre or afterward? None. No, dad, this is one tangle that your money cant unravel. We cant buy one minute of time with cash; if we could, rich people would live longer. Theres no hope of getting a talk with Miss Lantry before she sails.

All right, Richard, my boy, said old Anthony, cheerfully. You may run along down to your club now. Im glad it aint your liver. But dont forget to burn a few punk sticks in the joss house to the great god Mazuma[131] from time to time. You say money wont buy time? Well, of course, you cant order eternity wrapped up and delivered at your residence for a price, but Ive seen Father Time get pretty bad stone bruises on his heels when he walked through the gold diggings.

That night came Aunt Ellen, gentle, sentimental, wrinkled, sighing, oppressed by wealth, in to Brother Anthony at his evening paper, and began discourse on the subject of lovers woes.

He told me all about it, said brother Anthony, yawning. I told him my bank account was at his service. And then he began to knock money. Said money couldnt help. Said the rules of society couldnt be bucked for a yard by a team of ten-millionaires.

Oh, Anthony, sighed Aunt Ellen, I wish you would not think so much of money. Wealth is nothing where a true affection is concerned. Love is all-powerful. If he only had spoken earlier! She could not have refused our Richard. But now I fear it is too late. He will have no opportunity to address her. All your gold cannot bring happiness to your son.

At eight oclock the next evening Aunt Ellen took a quaint old gold ring from a moth-eaten case and gave it to Richard.

Wear it to-night, nephew, she begged. Your mother gave it to me. Good luck in love she said it brought. She asked me to give it to you when you had found the one you loved.

Young Rockwall took the ring reverently and tried it on his smallest finger. It slipped as far as the second joint and stopped. He took it off and stuffed it into his vest pocket, after the manner of man. And then he phoned for his cab.

At the station he captured Miss Lantry out of the gadding mob at eight thirty-two.

We mustnt keep mamma and the others waiting, said she.

To Wallacks Theatre as fast as you can drive! said Richard loyally.

They whirled up Forty-second to Broadway, and then down the white-starred lane that leads from the soft meadows of sunset to the rocky hills of morning.

At Thirty-fourth Street young Richard quickly thrust up the trap and ordered the cabman to stop.

Ive dropped a ring, he apologised, as he climbed out. It was my mothers, and Id hate to lose it. I wont detain you a minute I saw where it fell.

In less than a minute he was back in the cab with the ring.

But within that minute a crosstown car had stopped directly in front of the cab. The cabman tried to pass to the left, but a heavy express wagon cut him off. He tried the right, and had to back away from a furniture van that had no business to be there. He tried to back out, but dropped his reins and swore dutifully. He was blockaded in a tangled mess of vehicles and horses.

One of those street blockades had occurred that sometimes tie up commerce and movement quite suddenly in the big city.

Why dont you drive on? said Miss Lantry, impatiently. Well be late.

Richard stood up in the cab and looked around. He saw a congested flood of wagons, trucks, cabs, vans and street cars filling the vast space where Broadway, Sixth Avenue and Thirty-fourth street cross one another as a twenty-six inch maiden fills her twenty-two inch girdle. And still from all the cross streets they were hurrying and rattling toward the converging point at full speed, and hurling themselves into the struggling mass, locking wheels and adding their drivers imprecations to the clamour. The entire traffic of Manhattan seemed to have jammed itself around them. The oldest New Yorker among the thousands of spectators that lined the sidewalks had not witnessed a street blockade of the proportions of this one.

Im very sorry, said Richard, as he resumed his seat, but it looks as if we are stuck. They wont get this jumble loosened up in an hour. It was my fault. If I hadnt dropped the ring we

Let me see the ring, said Miss Lantry. Now that it cant be helped, I dont care. I think theatres are stupid, anyway.

At 11 oclock that night somebody tapped lightly on Anthony Rockwalls door.

Come in, shouted Anthony, who was in a red dressing-gown, reading a book of piratical adventures.

Somebody was Aunt Ellen, looking like a grey-haired angel that had been left on earth by mistake.

Theyre engaged, Anthony, she said, softly. She has promised to marry our Richard. On their way to the theatre there was a street blockade, and it was two hours before their cab could get out of it.

And oh, brother Anthony, dont ever boast of the power of money again. A little emblem of true love a little ring that symbolised unending and unmercenary affection was the cause of our Richard finding his happiness. He dropped it in the street, and got out to recover it. And before they could continue the blockade occurred. He spoke to his love and won her there while the cab was hemmed in. Money is dross compared with true love, Anthony.

All right, said old Anthony. Im glad the boy has got what he wanted. I told him I wouldnt spare any expense in the matter if

But, brother Anthony, what good could your money have done?

Sister, said Anthony Rockwall. Ive got my pirate in a devil of a scrape. His ship has just been scuttled, and hes too good a judge of the value of money to let drown. I wish you would let me go on with this chapter.

The story should end here. I wish it would as heartily as you who read it wish it did. But we must go to the bottom of the well for truth.

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The story should end here. I wish it would as heartily as you who read it wish it did. But we must go to the bottom of the well for truth.

The next day a person with red hands and a blue polka-dot necktie, who called himself Kelly, called at Anthony Rockwalls house, and was at once received in the library.

Well, said Anthony, reaching for his chequebook, it was a good bilin of soap. Lets see you had $5,000 in cash.

I paid out $300 more of my own, said Kelly. I had to go a little above the estimate. I got the express wagons and cabs mostly for $5; but the trucks and two-horse teams mostly raised me to $10. The motormen wanted $10, and some of the loaded teams $20. The cops struck me hardest $50 I paid two, and the rest $20 and $25. But didnt it work beautiful, Mr. Rockwall? Im glad William A. Brady wasnt onto that little outdoor vehicle mob scene. I wouldnt want William to break his heart with jealousy. And never a rehearsal, either! The boys was on time to the fraction of a second. It was two hours before a snake could get below Greeleys[132] statue.

Thirteen hundred there you are, Kelly, said Anthony, tearing off a check. Your thousand, and the $300 you were out. You dont despise money, do you, Kelly?

Me? said Kelly. I can lick the man that invented poverty.

Anthony called Kelly when he was at the door.

You didnt notice, said he, anywhere in the tie-up, a kind of a fat boy without any clothes on shooting arrows around with a bow, did you?

Why, no, said Kelly, mystified. I didnt. If he was like you say, maybe the cops pinched him before I got there.

I thought the little rascal wouldnt be on hand, chuckled Anthony. Good-by, Kelly.

Springtime à la Carte[133]

It was a day in March.

Never, never begin a story this way when you write one. No opening could possibly be worse. It is unimaginative, flat, dry and likely to consist of mere wind. But in this instance it is allowable. For the following paragraph, which should have inaugurated the narrative, is too wildly extravagant and preposterous to be flaunted in the face of the reader without preparation.

Sarah was crying over her bill of fare.

Think of a New York girl shedding tears on the menu card!

To account for this you will be allowed to guess that the lobsters were all out, or that she had sworn ice-cream off during Lent, or that she had ordered onions, or that she had just come from a Hackett[134] matinée. And then, all these theories being wrong, you will please let the story proceed.

The gentleman who announced that the world was an oyster which he with his sword would open made a larger hit than he deserved. It is not difficult to open an oyster with a sword. But did you ever notice any one try to open the terrestrial bivalve with a typewriter? Like to wait for a dozen raw opened that way?

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